


i hear voices underwater

by itachitachi



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Multi, Post-Season/Series 04, Spells & Enchantments, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachitachi/pseuds/itachitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This lake has taken too many of Merlin's own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i hear voices underwater

**Author's Note:**

> Written (but not submitted) for Pthon 2012 week 1: image prompts. Unfortunately the post that hosted the images seems to have disappeared, but hopefully the story stands on its own well enough.

"There are ways to commune with the dead," the druid says, eyes hard. "We do not speak of them."

"Oh," Merlin says.

***

It isn't that _he_ wishes to commune with the dead so much as the other way around. In pools of water he catches glimpses of Freya's face. He sometimes hears Lancelot's voice on the breeze.

They have something to tell him, he's sure of it.

***

The books on Gaius's shelves say little; the ones appropriated from Morgana's abandoned hovel say more. They speak of old substances: seeds, ash, blood, semen. When gathered together and the proper magic applied, the veil between life and death grows thin.

He writes the ingredients down on a scrap of parchment. In the ink bottle, he sees Freya's face.

***

The seeds and ash are easy—he holds a plum pit tight in his fist and scrawls charcoal along each of his fingers. He pricks his thumb for blood.

The last ingredient should be simple, but gives Merlin pause. He sits, one fist a mess of magic and the other cupping the softness of his cock, and can't do it. Arousal will not come, and he's not sure he would like it if it did.

Lancelot's voice whispers urgently, closer than ever before. Too close.

Merlin drops the plum pit and hurriedly washes his hand clean, pricked thumb throbbing.

***

In the end, it is not that difficult.

Arthur's shouts ring in his ears the whole way. Merlin's face is a wreck of tears and snot, and when he reaches the lake he strips down to his skin. There is a boat, but he pays it no mind. He will not use it.

"What if I want to go there?" he asks the lake. He misses them, the way they _knew_ him. He doesn't belong here.

The voice this time sounds almost like Lancelot is right beside him. In the water Merlin can see Freya's pale face; she stares him right in the eye, reflection unbroken by ripples.

He steps into the lake.

***

He could swear he is only knee-deep yet, but the world around him is dim and wavery, as happens under water. Freya and Lancelot stand before him, like dreams.

"Merlin," says Lancelot, and it is only upon hearing his true voice that Merlin realizes the hollowness of the whispers.

"Is it really—?" he asks, splashing forward.

"Of course," Freya says. "But Merlin, you can't stay."

"But—" Merlin says. "You called me here. _You_ did."

Her eyes are sad. "Merlin, you heard our voices because you badly wanted to. Not because we called."

"This is not to say that we do not welcome you, my friend," says Lancelot. "But you must realize we only would have wished you to come here as all people do, at your own proper time."

Merlin takes a deep breath. He backs away a step, puts his hands to his face.

"Merlin," Freya says, stepping close, soothing.

He has only wanted to feel wanted. To be seen for the man he has become, mired in lies, and be desired in spite of it. He has only wanted to belong somewhere, to feel honest again.

"Arthur will accept you one day," Lancelot says, faith enough in his voice that Merlin shakes, overwhelmed. "Do not be afraid."

"And do not waste this time while you are here," Freya says, drawing his attention again. Her gaze is steady, her cheeks and lips rosy as they never had been in life.

She looks well. He almost envies her, but instead hugs her tight round the waist. "Can I...?" he asks, and she flushes, but nods. When he kisses her, her lips taste of fresh water.

"I'll just—" Lancelot says, turning, but Merlin grasps his wrist, suddenly desperate.

"Please," Merlin says. Here, he is not too ashamed to beg for what he wants.

***

It is not a wild, passionate encounter; they splash softly in the shallows, kissing. Eventually Merlin ends up underneath them, arching between two fingers in his mouth and three somewhere deeper, more intimate. Everything is wet, but Merlin thinks the hot droplets catching in his eyelashes must be more than lakewater. Lancelot kisses them from the corners of his eyes while Freya traces gentle runes over his heart.

With these two he will always be accepted, he thinks, in a sudden moment of clarity. He will always belong.

***

He wakes lying half in the lake, looking up at the sky.

He is alone, but it is a new day.


End file.
